Rescue

On Saturday, I was sitting by the Novatel Hotel pool with friends. Dressed in my jeans and silk tank top, I was hardly dressed for swimming but had dropped by anyways to say hi before going about some errands. I looked over to the pool and noticed a young Rwandese girl swimming underwater in circles. Something about it did not look right. I stood up to take a closer look and just then I saw her thrust herself on to her back and press her face up for air. I’ll never forget it the fight and panic expressed in that one desperate movement before she started to sink below again. Without realizing what I was doing until I was doing it, I dove into the pool. Underwater, I kept my eyes on her pink bathing suit, and I can still see her arms and legs flailing silently. I pushed her up to the surface and felt her small body gasping for air. As soon as I touched her, her body gave up and let me swim her to the side. Someone appeared to help pull her out of the pool and I followed in my wet clothes. The girl was 9 and her parents were inside the hotel having a coffee. As I assisted the girl to become calm and catch her breath, the adreline that had cursed through my body slowed down and as soon as her father rushed to the scene, I left, tears of relief streaming down my cheeks.

It was a truly humbling experience, to realize just how fragile life is and to be so thankful for my own. No one else saw the girl and I shudder to think what might have happened if I had not turned my head.

Walking a Mile in Woman’s Shoes

At what point do you realize that the neighbourhood in which you live has accepted you as one of their own? Is it when most of the women and children know you by name, and call to you as you walk, moto or drive by? Or perhaps, it’s when they show you the secret passage ways behind their houses and tell you to use them so that robbers cannot get away if you are mugged. Or maybe, it’s when they offer to let you borrow their shoes for a day!

Today, I was walking up the final hill to the main road where I normally get a moto to work. However, just as I got there, my flip flop broke. Reluctantly, I took my shoes off and began to walk back to my house, which is about 15 minute walk away. As I walked the villagers sympathized with me saying “sorry” as I passed. Then one woman stopped me and told me that there was a man who fixes shoes in the village. She took me back to the main strip where a man quickly appeared and begin to set up shop on the street. Meanwhile the woman turned to me and said, “You cant wear other shoes?” Thinking that she was asking if I would go home to get new shoes I replied “yes, I have to, I have to go to work”. But before I could leave, she turned to a group of women sorting beans on a ground behind us, and after a few words were exchanged, one of them appeared with a pair of sandals! She thrust them onto my bare feet and told me to wear them for the day and then collect my sandals from her house after work! I could not believe the generosity of that woman! I am currently wearing the shoes of a woman from my village and revealing in the ability of people who have so little to be so kind! Walking for a day in her shoes is definitely teaching a good lesson in generosity and trust.

The Road Less Travelled

The other weekend, my roommate, Stephanie and I decided to drive up north. She wanted to see the gorillas, and I, not ready to spend $500 on them, was going to hike to the top of Mount Bisoke (more on that later!). We borrowed a friend’s huge old red land cruiser, which rattled wildly at ever bump in the road, and headed off on Friday afternoon, Our friend had forgotten to leave his map in the car, but armed with what some vague directions from a friend, Stephanie and I headed blithely up north. The countryside in Rwanda is beautiful and we were enjoying the feeling of being two women taking charge of our freedom in Africa (not something we take for granted). It is very rare that you will see women driving, let along two foreign women driving such a massive car without a Rwandese guide or driver with them. But the fun came to an abrupt halt as we reached the border of Uganda and we realized we had taken the wrong road!

The roads in Rwanda are good, if you stick to the five main ones that spread outwards from Kigali, but if you want to get between those main roads, things look pretty grim. However, Steph and I, intreprid female nomads that we are, were not phased. The little road that joined us to the road we wanted to take was a mere dirt track winding up and down the mountains and without and map or signs. It was quite an adventure at every fork in the road when we’d have to stop, pull down the window and try to interpret various hand movements through a combination of Steph and I’s meagre Kirwanda, and Swahili.

A two hour trip turned into six hours. But taking the road much less travelled was a terrific opportunity to see the beautiful landscape and interact with some villagers who could not have been sweeter to two foreign women taking a road trip in Rwanda.

Rwandese Helmet!

A friend took this photo! I take a moto-taxi to work every day but luckily I've never had to wear a helmet like this!